Hustling – From the Streets to the Boardroom


“Read this and maybe you will be someone one day”

Those were the words my dad spoke as he handed me a book on the Mafia.  I was 12 years old and very impressionable.  I would stay with my dad during the weekends.  He would rent gangster movies for me to watch while he was away at work.  He was obsessed with the lifestyle.

During my childhood my dad was involved in criminal activities that ranged  from selling drugs to running numbers.  He tried to hide it from me, but I knew.  He hung around with low level, wannabe mafia types.  They sat in diners all night long drinking coffee, breaking each others balls about women and how “rich” the next guy was.   The fact of the matter was none of them were rich.

They told stories about the past while laughing obnoxiously loud in public places, creating a scene.  The majority of what came out of their mouths were either lies or half-truths.  It was like watching a bad episode of the Sopranos 20 years before it was a show.

As a kid I loved it.  I couldn’t wait to be around his friends.  I thought they were the greatest.  I idolized them.  They had nice cars, which my father never had.  Some wore gaudy jewelry and always carried big wads of cash.

They were always excited to see me and treated me like royalty.  Unlike my father who usually put me down and made me feel less than.  When I grew up I wanted to be like them.  I had become obsessed with that lifestyle.

At 13 I started selling weed to my friends.  At first, I stole it from my brother and my friend’s dad until I found my own source to buy it.  I bagged it up in little dime bags and sold it to friends for $10 a piece.

Even back then I remember wanting to make sure I always gave people a great deal.  I packed the bags I sold nice and full, removing the stems from the buds.  When I bought weed from other people it was mainly stems and seeds.  I hated that and wanted to be different, even it meant I made less money.

As I got a littler older and progressed from selling weed to coke, my mentality on making a profit changed.  I cut my product, but tried to maintain a certain quality standard.  I found that if I added seven grams of cut to an ounce of quality coke and mixed it well people rarely complained.  To stretch my profits further I would make half grams weigh .4 instead of .5 and my grams weigh .8 instead of 1.  These two tricks net me an additional $500 in profit if I didn’t use too much of it myself. (more…)

That Wasn’t Water

As soon as I swallowed it was already too late.  I had grabbed the wrong water bottle and taken a large gulp.  I started to sweat.  I was nodding in and out of consciousness.  I knew I needed to get off at the next exit before I passed out behind the wheel.

I was leaving Philly on a Saturday morning driving to Reading, Pennsylvania to visit friends.  It’s about an hour drive if traffic isn’t too bad.  But, traffic is always bad driving on route 76.   I sat there in gridlock.  I was thirsty and reached into my backpack to grab my bottle of water.

hqdefaultI made a big mistake forgetting that I had two water bottles in my bag.  One filled with water, the other filled with GHB.  There’s a huge difference between a sip of each.  I drank a mouthful.  I needed to get off the road quickly.

I took the first exit I saw.  I made my way to a more secluded location between an industrial area and  a small patch of woods next to the Schuylkill river.   I parked my car and put the keys under my wheel well in case a cop came by.  I felt myself about to vomit.

I flung open my car door and violently threw up.  The vomit splattered off the ground and little chunks of it made its way into my car and onto my clothes.  The putrid smell made me gag and I threw up again.

I closed the door and laid back in my seat.  It was spring time and it was rather warm in my car.  I was sweating profusely.  I fell asleep for maybe 30 minutes when the uncontrollable urge to shit woke me up.

pooping-in-the-woods-300x169I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but if I didn’t act soon I was going to shit my pants.  I sprung out of my car and raced into the woods.  I found a stump and anchored myself against it.  I pulled down my pants and let loose.  It was awful. The equivalent of soft serve spewing out of my ass.

I was so relieved that I was able to safely clear my bowels that I didn’t think about how I was going to clean up.  I looked around for leaves I could use.  I’m not much of an outdoorsman so I was afraid that I may wipe my ass with something poisonous.

I had a nice shirt on so I didn’t want to use that.  Then it hit me.  Why don’t I use my wife beater?  I was standing on the side of the Schuylkill River with limited coverage from traffic, naked with my pants around my ankles, wiping my ass with a wife beater.

I was careful to clean the shit particles that had attached to my legs and balls and threw the wife beater on the ground.  I stumbled back to my car and passed out for a couple of hours.  When I woke up I continued on my journey to visit my friends, unphased from the mornings activities.



I Put the Ass In Class

I used to be a partner in a nightclub in Philadelphia.  It was possibly the worst investment I have ever made as far as money is concerned.  I dealt with some of the worst people the city had to offer.  Several of my partner were unscrupulous to say the least.  But, I met a lot of really good friends over that time and the experience I gained was worth the loss on paper.

I sold my stake in the business four years ago.  Some of my partners stayed in the business with the new investors and they turned it a EDM club.  When I was involved it was a hip hop club in the Philly Urban scene.  Complete opposite sides of the nightlife spectrum.

Their first year in business they booked some of the biggest DJ’s from around the world to play there.  Many of my friends and former colleagues still worked there so I decided to treat the place like my personal playground.  I brought whoever I wanted there through the side-door, never paid for a drink and got in fights constantly.

back2The grand opening event was sold out.  There were more than 1200 people there that night. My friends and I partied our asses off.  At one point I walked up to the main bar, broke out a line of coke and sniffed off the bar in front of hundreds of people.  No one seemed to notice or care.

I left my friends at our table and made my rounds through the club.   I ran into a stripper I occasionally hooked up with.  When she saw me she started yelling and dancing around with excitement.  She immediately left the person she was talking to and jumped on me.  She wrapped her arms and leg around me and kissed me.

I carried her away with me through the crowd and into the clubs office.  Several of the employees were in the office working so we went into the private bathroom.  We kissed and did a couple bumps of coke.   Then, I bent her over and licked her ass.  Once I got hard I put my dick in her for a couple of pumps before someone started banging on the bathroom door.  I knew I wasn’t going to finish so we stopped and walked out.

I told her I would see her later and I went back to my table.  A close friend of mine asked where I had been and why my face smelled like an asshole.  I told him the story and the rest of the night he called me “stinky-butthole-face.”

Not too long after that I wound up being the douchebag wearing a wife beater in the club.  I was so drunk I kept trying to drink out of a cracked cup and spilled all over myself and everyone around me.

My friends and I went back to my house and kept the party going.  Around 6 AM only two of us were left standing.  I received a phone call from the stripper and she was crying hysterically.  She told me that her and her boyfriend had gotten into an argument and he punched her.  Unbeknownst to me, the guy she was talking to in the club when she started kissing me was her boyfriend.

I felt like a dick about the whole situation.  But not enough to do anything about it to help her.  I was drunk and coked up in the wee hours of the morning.  I wasn’t equipped to help her with her problem.  I told her I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me.  That ended the call abruptly.  Then I took a Xanax and went to bed.

I’m Kicking Again

man having painful depressionCrawling out of my skin; all the familiar symptoms rush over my mind and body.  Weakness and fatigue beating me down.  My body fluctuating from hot to cold.  The inability to think or focus because my mind is clogged up and foggy with thoughts that don’t serve me well.  Restlessness and irritation.  The bloating and stomach pains.  The night sweats.  All this evidence leads me to one conclusion: I’m going through withdrawal.

My doctor has prescribed me Xanax for several years now.   I have been using it to fall sleep on a regular basis for the last 18 months.  I’ve tried many other natural supplements and sleep techniques over that time period with little to no success.  I know its not the best option, but it’s worked for me.

I’ve slept horribly for the better part of 15 years.  I wake up numerous times every night.  A myriad of factors effect my ability to get enough sleep.  Having to urinate during the night, body pains, anxiety and the inability to shut off my mind are the main culprits.

I decided several weeks ago that it was time to wean myself off Xanax.  I have become dependent on it for sleep, but my body has developed a tolerance to it.  Continuing to take it this medication in the future isn’t a sustainable option.

Coming off of benzo’s can be a very difficult and dangerous process.  Quite often people experience very adverse side effects including seizures.  I tried kicking cold turkey when I was in California a month ago and the withdrawal symptoms were too great.  I didn’t want to ruin my vacation.

When I returned home from vacation I decided it was time to come off.  I cut my usual dosage in half for two weeks; then in half again for another two weeks.  I should have kept taking it every other day for another week or two, but I was ready to come off.

It’s been over seven months since I had to kick opiates.  I’m employing many of the same supplements and methods I have in the past to mitigate some of the side effects:

  • Plenty of water with fresh squeezed lemon – Withdrawal makes me very dehydrated.  I’m drinking at least 1.5 gallons of water a day.  This keeps me hydrated and the lemon is a natural way to detox the liver.
  • Vitamin C –  Keeps the immune system healthy.  There’s been studies showing mega doses can ameliorate withdrawal symptoms in opiate addicts.
  • Magnesium – It calms the nervous system and lessens anxiety.
  • Getting plenty of sunlight – This is important for vitamin D production.  Being in the sun makes me feel invigorated and my mood appreciates.  Taking a walk in the sun is shown to release oxytocin which is known as the “happiness hormone.”
  • Exercise – No matter how weak I feel, partaking in some sort of exercise always aids in this process.  It gets the blood flowing, endorphin’s going and takes my focus off of other symptoms.
  • L-Tyrosine – This amino acid helps immensely with energy.  Unlike with caffeine or other stimulants, L-Tyrosine does not make me jittery.  It gives me nice, smooth, prolonged energy.  It can also increase dopamine in the brain to counteract depression.
  • Alleve – To deal with all the body aches and pains.

Last night I tried smoking weed to counteract how miserable I felt.  Getting high completely wiped me out to the point where I could barely function.  It took me 20 minutes to walk my dog around the block.  My motor functions slowed to a crawl.  I lay on my couch half paralyzed until I fell asleep.

I stopped taking Xanax seven days ago.  The last two days my symptoms have been the most intense.  As I write this I’m not sure if it will turn out to be intelligible.  My brain is barely functioning and my body would like to shut down.  However, I feel like am nearing the tail end of this debacle.

This experiment didn’t go as smoothly as planned.  Nonetheless, It’s a surreal feeling knowing what I’m going through internally and still having the ability to be in control of my feelings and emotions. Having a clear head and being in a more stable place in my life makes handling this situation much easier.  It’s a completely different experience then kicking drugs I was using recreationally.

The Opportunity Costs of Life

Every action we take in life has a cost.  The currency we pay in may be time, money, health, sanity or relationships.  Most people never think about this until they get a little older in life and reflect back on past years. They come to the understanding that all of their actions have put them in their current situation; whether it’s fortuitous or tumultuous.

Every choice we make takes away from another opportunity that could have been.  Sometimes the costs are so great that looking back on them drums up great pain in our souls.  For the intelligent, wise, or possibly just lucky; their opportunity costs have been low. They have lived their lives in a very fruitful manner where the gains have exceeded their losses.

I struggle with judging the costs of my actions and how they affected my life.  At a cursory glance I immediately think I paid a heavy price.  I have made decisions with my life that have been very costly to my health and well-being.  My lifestyle, career choices and rampant drug use and abuse throughout much of my life has had a profound impact on my present situation.

I’m fortunate to be as healthy as I am.  I’ve done a massive amount of damage to my body and been lucky enough to avoid extremely serious issues.  I believe these were bumps in the road that God or the universe has thrown in my way to wake me up and correct the path I was on.

Five to six years ago I was using coke and painkillers very heavily.  I also drank and used steroids.  During this time I contracted a virus that attacked my heart and I was hospitalized.

After a couple days at the hospital I was diagnosed with a viral cardiomyopathy.  The doctors were uncertain whether my heart would get back to normal, stay the same or get worse.  They covered all the possible options with their amazingly vague prognosis.

Over the next two years my heart recovered.  I was on ACE inhibitors and beta blockers to control my blood pressure and hopefully prevent my heart from further damage.  I never stopped using opiates, even while in the hospital.  Two weeks out of the hospital I was back in the gym. Three to Four months after that I was back on a low dose of steroids.  A couple weeks after starting back on steroids I was using coke again.

My bill for that life experience was rather steep.  However, without batting an eye, I continued on the road I was on.  They say pain is the cornerstone of growth and change.   For much of my life the pain had to become unbearable for me to make changes.

Less than a year after my cardiomyopathy I ended up in rehab for the second time in my life.  I was clean and sober for about 6 months.  I met a ton of good people in the program.  I learned valuable tools and truths about life that I will never forget.

Unfortunately, I didn’t always put these tools to use.  Once I stopped going to meetings I was back to using pretty quickly.   Then, for some reason I just decided I couldn’t use coke anymore.  I hated it and what it had done to my life.  I just got to a point where enough was enough and I couldn’t stand the pain any longer.  On the 4th of July in 2012 I quit using cocaine and have not used it to this day.

I continued to use low doses of steroids until the summer of 2013, when I was 33.  I always looked at steroids as being rather benign, unless you use absurd physiological doses.  Even after what I am about to tell you, I still have that opinion of testosterone in small dosages.

I had just gotten back together with my ex girlfriend.  We spent the majority of the summer at her parent’s beach house.  I wasn’t using pain killers or coke.   I was in love with the woman I thought I would marry.  I was preparing to quit my illegitimate business ventures and I had plenty of money. Life was pretty damn great.

Then I started having some pain in the lower right side of my abdomen.  My doctor thought it could be a hernia so he sent me for CT scan.   I was at my ex’s beach house eating dinner with her when I received a life changing phone call from my doctor.  He told me the scan showed I had two pool ball size lesions on my liver that were more than likely Hepatocellular Carcinomas (Liver cancer).

I went through a gamut of tests over the next couple of weeks.  Including several liver biopsies, which were possibly the most physically painful experiences of my life.  When all the smoke cleared I had gotten lucky again.  The lesions turned out to be Hepatic Adenomas.  The doctors diagnosed my steroid use as the cause for these lesions.

I begrudgingly stopped using steroids when I first got the news that it could be cancer. I lost a good deal of my size, my dick didn’t work right for 6 months, and mentally I was a wreck.  I started using painkillers again during this time and ultimately my actions from that point on cost me my relationship.

Looking back on how I handled these changes I feel very foolish and ungrateful.  I had just been giving a new chance at life being told I did NOT have liver cancer.  I had the opportunity to move to a new area with my girlfriend and her son and start a new life.  I had given up my previous life, without having to go to jail.  I had saved up more than enough money to live off of for several years. But I couldn’t see past the pain of the change.

I decided to choose being stuck.  I was sulking and trying to bring back the past instead of looking towards the future and being open about the possibilities.  I lost two people I loved and a future I hoped for in this process.  It was a heavy price I had to pay for the choices I made.

It’s easy for me to see what my actions have cost me.  It’s much more difficult for me express gratitude for all of the lessons life has taught me that I never wanted to learn.  I have lived an awful lot in my 35 years.  I have done and seen things the majority of people I know have not. I have the ability to enjoy my life with many comforts that I take for granted.  I am able to learn, grow and start over with a new found self.  I have friends and family that love me despite my actions.

My life has lead me to this point where I’m comfortable enough with myself to share my experiences.  I have faith that my words may resonate with others and help them choose life.  That I can create a better world for myself and those around me.

If I had never have paid these opportunity costs in pain, I wouldn’t be where I am today.  I may never have felt this sense of purpose in my life.  I have so much good surrounding me.  Good I may never have discovered had I not made decisions that took me to a point that I had no choice but to make a change.

Life changes.  The reality is the only way to be comfortable is to accept change.  Stop fighting the old and looking for comfort.  Nothing ever stays the same.  People go in and out of our lives.  We change jobs.  Our looks change.  Feelings change.  The only constant in life is change.  Embrace the change.

Getting High and Swimming With Sharks

In hindsight getting high and swimming with sharks may not have been the best idea.  I was bored and by myself while visiting Adelaide, Australia.  So I decided to get high and go to SeaWorld for the day.  It seemed like an exciting trip and I always enjoyed aquariums, especially stoned.

I walked around marveling at the aquatic life and taking pictures.  The shark tanks were the main attraction for me.   I noticed they had a sign posted by the tanks that said “swim with the sharks.” I quickly signed up to for the next available time and paid my fees and was ready for my adventure.  I had never swam in a shark tank so I was pretty stoked to do it.

The SeaWorld employees took a group of us back inside the inner workings of the aquarium.  They gave us our scuba gear and went over the types of sharks and sea life we would be swimming with.  The staff went over the ground rules of we could and couldn’t do in while in the tank with the sharks.  There weren’t too many rules to follow to be honest.  The main rule, and most obvious, was that touching the sea life was strictly prohibited.

None of the sharks in the tank were considered aggressive.  Which I found unfortunate at the time.  For some reason knowing that took away some of the excitement from the experience.  I’m not sure why the thought of possibly getting eaten was more appealing.  Probably because I was high and having some odd delusions of grandeur of fighting off a shark attack.

Once I got into the tank and swam around with these creatures it was a pretty amazing experience.  Having these sharks and other large fish swimming past me just inches from my grasp.  It was amazing to see them breezing through the water with ease as I struggled to get around.

After fifteen minutes of swimming around I noticed the front side of the tank had numerous people congregating at it.  People were watching all of us swimming with the sharks and taking pictures.  I swam up to the the people watching and posed a bit so they could take some pictures.  I was a bit of an attention whore.

I saw the flashes going off from the cameras of people snapping pictures for the photo albums.  I saw this as perfect opportunity for me to have some fun.  I was going to give them a memory they could laugh about and cherish for years.

A Leopard Shark had been resting on the bottom of the tank right in front of the main viewing area.  It had been there for the whole that I was in the water and hadn’t moved an inch.  I floated passed the shark several times grazing it with my hands.

sharkattackI swam up to the Leopard shark, laughing hysterically to myself.  I grabbed its dorsal fin and started to dry hump the back of the shark.  The shark still didn’t move.  The people at the window watched in disgust, while others snapped pictures.  I saw mothers putting their hands over their childrens eyes.  It caused a bit of a commotion.

I felt a hand grab my shoulder.  It was the SeaWorld employee who was in the water with us.  He signaled to me that I needed to leave the tank immediately.

Once I got out of the water I received a fierce reprimanding from the staff.  I was escorted off premises by security.  They told me that I was no longer able to set foot in the park or they would call the authorities.

I had a different view of what was acceptable and funny at 26.  Hell, I still would find it pretty funny today if I saw it happen.  Although, I probably wouldn’t be the guy humping the shark this time.  But honestly, how many people can say they got kicked out of SeaWorld for molesting a shark?!

1 Night in Amsterdam + 1 Cialis = 14 Prostitutes


Walking into the Red Light District felt like Disney World for degenerates. I couldn’t have been more excited.   I handed my new found Australian friends; Mike and Joe, a liter of Amstel and a Cialis.  We had meet (they were brothers) a couple hours earlier, but a few joints and beers later we were like old pals.

We continued to drink and as I got more polluted I came up with, what I thought, was a great idea.  I made up a competition to see who could have sex with the most prostitutes in one night.  When I presented them with my idea they looked at me and laughed.  I took this as a yes.

Joe was the first to take part in my game. He saw an attractive women in the window.  I could tell he was a little nervous about what he was about to do.  He looked at me with a little smile and said ” I don’t really know if want to spend the money because I cum prematurely mate”.  His brother and I laughed at him until the peer pressure was enough that he agreed to partake in the game.

I cracked a fresh liter of beer as he went into the house.  Mike and I stood outside on the street drinking and talking.  I hadn’t even finished half of my beer when Joe walked out  with his head down.  He was in the house for less than 3 minutes total and had already finished.  His brother and I couldn’t stop laughing at him.

The majority of the events over the next 10-12 hours are a bit blurry for me.  But, there are some part I remember clearly, like my trip to Skinny Alley.  Skinny Alley is exactly what It sounds like.  It was an alley in the Red Light District with barely enough room for people to walk single file in either direction.  Every 12-15 feet there was a doorway with a prostitute standing in it.

As I passed a door I felt a hand grab me and pull me inside a dark room.  When the lights went on I saw one of the most beautiful women I have ever encountered standing in front of me.  She was Portuguese and perfect; other than being a prostitute of course.  She offered me some coke, which I thought was awful nice of her.  Then she said “for you we can do this for 25 Euros.”  That’s less than taking a date out to dinner at a low end restaurant.  I’m not one to pass up a great deal. Free drugs and inexpensive sex with this Portuguese Goddess.  I felt like I was taking advantage of her.

After we had our fun, we did a little more coke and had a couple drinks.  We made small talk.  She asked about my life in the US and said she always want to travel to America.  At one point she hinted at the possibility of coming to visit me.  I took that as my cue to leave.  I gave her my E-mail address and said goodbye.

On my way out, I took a pen from her room and made a mark on my hand.  This was how I kept score for the competition.  It was like tallying votes on a chalk board as a child.

As it turns out, I was the only one competing.  The brothers were long gone. I stumbled around the Red Light District, making mark after mark on my hand.  At one point one of the prostitutes tried to dose me with GHB.  I’m not sure what she had planned for me; but I’m pretty sure it looked something like the movie Hostel.

As the night progressed I became less and less selective with my purchases.  It was a sheer numbers game for me at this point.  There was a very angry and rather large black chick who stole $20 from me.  She gave me a lackluster handjob, which she didn’t even finish.  I had sex with a couple of chicks way past their prime.  Overall, the quantity game caused me to have buyers remorse often.

The sun was starting to come up.  When I looked at my watch I realized I had to be back at my hotel and ready to leave on the bus in less than two hours.  I had no idea where I was in correlation to the hotel.  As I flagged down a taxi a guy bumped into me and tried to grab my Rolex off my wrist.   Thankfully I still had the capacity to defend myself even in my stupor.  I shrugged it off and jumped into the taxi.

Upon arriving at the hotel I went to my room, packed up all my items and headed down to the lobby.  I knew if I went to bed I wouldn’t wake up in time to make the bus and would be left behind. The next thing I remember the tour guide was shaking me to wake me up and asking if I was OK.  I was covered in sweat, sleeping on my suitcase in front of the whole tour group.

I could feel the very judgmental eyes of my fellow travelers burning into my soul.  Joe and Mike were laughing at me and making jokes.  I reached into my pocket to find I had spent about 800 Euros that night.  Then, I looked down at my hand and counted the 14 marks.  I proudly showed the brothers what I had accomplished and claimed victory.

As a side note, I learned that a blue light at a house means they are a dude dressed up as a woman.  Be careful.  I almost found this out the hard way.  No pun intended

Freebasing with the Squirrel Master

Like Rick James said “cocaine is a hell of a drug.” The craziest thing about my coke use is that I cant recall a single time I actually enjoyed doing it. Yet I did a shit ton of it for 15 years. Coke made me twitchier , I walked around with a “cold” all the time and it guaranteed my dick wouldn’t work.

From my experience coke brings out all the shittiest people to hang out with.  People who hate each other will stay up all night ripping lines talking about saving the world. The only reason any of them are there is because one of them has coke.

The yacked up conversations are by far one of the worst parts about doing coke. It usually ends up a bunch of random assholes in a room or a kitchen all fucked up, talking about shit they most likely will never do. Just thinking about it while writing makes me feel a little sick. But Ill get off my soapbox and tell my story.

One of my college roommates was a skinny, angry redneck that chain smoked Newports. He had short little T Rex arms and kind of looked like he may have had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.  He was loud and offensive.   However, part of me found him hilarious. He always spit when he spoke and his breath reeked of smoke. We called him the Squirrel Master. The name stemmed from squirrels invading the walls of his room and his stories of making squirrel potpie when he was younger.

We used to compete in really stupid and dangerous contests. Like who could do the most coke in a given amount of time or who could do the biggest line. One night we finished an 8 ball in less than 25 minutes. I ended up laying in my bed praying not to have a heart attack. He went out partying all night. Advantage….Squirrel Master!

Sometimes sniffing coke just wasn’t enough. We would step up our game and get creative. So we would break out the tinfoil, a splash of water, a lighter and an emptied out pen. If you use all the ingredients correctly, ta-da, you can smoke freebase.

Freebasing seemed to be more of a Sunday afternoon type thing for the Squirrel Master and I. I’m not quite sure why, but its just how it went down. One Sunday afternoon we ventured upstairs to his room in the attic and got everything prepped. Tossed the water on the coke and melted it down on the tinfoil. It was time to get down! We started taking a couple pulls of the shitty metallic tasting smoke through the pen .

The Squirrel Master was really fucked up and just had that twinkle in his eye that said “Im going for it.” He lit up the lighter, hit the tinfoil and pulled a giant cloud of smoke in through the pen. He held it in for as long as he could and then it happened. His eyes rolled back in his head and he unleashed the most vicious hacking cough I have ever heard. He fell out of his chair and hit the floor. He continued coughing violently and tears started rolling down his face.

When I saw him on the floor I ran downstairs as fast as I could. Now I’d like to tell you I went to go get him some help. But, Nope! I went and grabbed the rest of my roommates to come see what had happened. My friend could have been having stroke for all we knew. But, we were too busy doubled over, half in tears pointing and laughing at him to care.

The Squirrel Master came out of his coughing fit just fine. Well as fine as you can be when your whacked out on Freebase. He joined in on the fun and started smiling and laughing as usual. The first thing he did when he got his composure was go right back to that tinfoil, take a hit and then light up a Newport.

Clearly we were shitty fucking friends.

The Instant I Knew It Was Me, Not Them


In my 20’s and early 30’s I ran around like a maniac.  Fueled by booze, drugs and pussy.  I basically lived off cocaine, steroids, pills and alcohol.  Sleeping with any woman that presented herself as available for me. I racked up a ton of notches on my belt.  I thought I was the fucking man!  However, there was a part of me that always wondered why I couldn’t find a “good girl” to settle down with.  I would bitch about the chicks I met.  Constantly classifying them all as “whores” and “bitches.”  Never once looking at my own behavior or realizing that we attract what we put out into the world.

That thinking literally all changed in one instant when I was 27.  For the next 6-7 years after I still attracted fucked up women with issues like my own.  I just had become cognizant of it.  It was like an alarm went off inside of me.  More like I was hit square in the head with a 2×4.

I was in Australia, visiting some friends.  I met these Aussies a few months prior on a trip to Europe.  After spending some time with them I ventured off on my own up to Queensland. I hung out in Surfers Paradise for a couple days.  While taking some surfing lessons one day I met a few Canadians.  They mentioned a bar crawl that was going on that night in the area.  So I put on my tightest shirt and went out looking to find some pussy down under. I was by myself on this guided bar crawl.  Everyone was drinking heavily.  We all made small talk and got to know each other.  I remember these two goofy, little Australian guys who kept talking to me about gangs because I was an American.  They repeatedly mentioned the “heaps of Crips” they had down under.  Although, not pertinent to the story but Crips in Australia????  Anyway, I ended up breaking away from the bar crawl and went straight to my bread and butter; the strip clubs.

Once inside the strip club I continued drinking.  I went about my usual ways chatting up the girls who were working.  One brunette in particular took a liking to me. She got a kick out of my accent and my “American ways.”  I was a loud, brash, cocky bastard and she was into that.  As the night was wrapping up I invited her back to my hotel room.  She told me she couldn’t leave with me becasuse That was considered solicitation.  If someone saw us we could get fined.  She told me to meet her at Macca’s (its what the Australians call McDonald’s) in 45 minutes.  Then we could go back to my hotel room.

I wasn’t sure she would actually show up, but I had nothing better to do at 4:30 in the morning, so fuck it, I went.  Sure enough she was there.  She grabbed a burger and we went back to my place.  When we got back to the hotel we headed right to the bedroom to have sex.  I don’t recall it being very good.  Looking back I knew jackshit about sex at the time.  Of course I thought differently.

After we finished we were laying in bed talking.  She told me she had to leave to get back to her “partner.”  I was a little confused by the term and why she chose that word over and over again.  I asked if she had a girlfriend.  She then proceeded to tell me “Not exactly; my partner is a tranny and we have 2 kids together.”  You may think that was the moment the alarm in my head went off.  WRONG!

I started to ask questions about her partner and her life.  She told me she was from New Zealand and she had been around transexuals all her life.  Her father apparently pimped them.  She also casually mentioned that her and her sister had done a porno together.  When I say together, I mean together; as in incest!

Out of some sick sense of curiosity I asked if she still had sex with her partner.  She told me her partner was beautiful and they still slept together occasionally.  The stories just continued to go down hill from there.  She said her partner was taking hormones and no longer had testicles.  I asked if he had surgery to remove them.  Without hesitation she blurted out, “Well he came home one night after a long meth bender and he finally got the courage to ask me to cut them off.”  My face dropped.  I thought she was kidding.  But, with a completely straight face she told me cut off his balls with a box-cutter.  Apparently he had to go to the hospital because he almost bled to death!

That’s when it happened. At that very moment I wasn’t even that shocked by the story to be honest.  I was more taken back by the realization I came to about myself.  It was literally the defining moment in my life when I realized I that I was the problem.  All of my crazy relationship issues had one common denominator.  ME!  it wasn’t the girls, its was me.  I brought all of this about because I was fucked up.  Its the law of the universe.  We attract what we put out there.

The next day I woke up a little hungover.  It was a beautiful day so I headed to the beach.  My phone went off as I was getting a bite to eat.  It was the her.  I suppose you can already guess the worst part about this story.  Even after what I had learned the night before I still invited her over and fucked her again.  Pussy is a powerful drug.  Yep; its me not them.


The Little Asian from Craigslist

I was living in San Diego.    My girlfriend at the time (lets call her RT) lived on the East Coast.  Once a month she would come out to visit. Her and I had a really fucked up dysfunctional relationship. However, In some respects it was a whole lot of fun.  At that point in our relationship sex with hookers, trolling Craigslist for threesomes and doing weird shit like blumpkins were the norm for RT and I.  Also, this may come as a shocker, but I was REALLY REALLY fucked up on drugs.

Every time RT came out to visit we would look for girls that we could bring home to party with.  If we didn’t find someone at the bar, or I couldn’t convince a stripper from my favorite club to come home with us we would hit the internet.  Most times this would devolve into the two of us calling escorts until we reached one that actually would show up at that time of night.  Sometimes what showed up was horrifying.  But that didn’t ever stop us.

On this specific visit My best Friend Erik came out with RT.  Literally 3 hours from the time the plane landed he and I ended up in handcuffs.  We had a little altercation with a couple guys at a bar in Pacific Beach.  That set the tone for their visit.

Before they came out RT and I posted an ad on Craigslist looking for a girl who was interested in a threesome.  A tiny Asian girl (lets call her LA) replied to the ad.  She sent pictures of herself and a description of what she was into.  We set up a time to meet at her place.  She told me to bring my best friend a long as well.

The three of us went over to LA’s apartment.  When we arrived she had laid out a fruit and cheese plate for us and paired it with some wine.  This blew my fucking mind for some reason.  We made small talk and decided to hit the hot tub in her complex.  LA quickly sat on Erik’s lap and started jerking him off and kissing him.  RT and I were a little disappointed because we wanted her for ourselves.

When we went back into her apartment, RT went and changed back into her clothes.  LA stopped RT and asked her why she was putting clothes on.  At this point LA went full on turbo.  She pulled my pants down and starting blowing me in front of RT and Erik.  Having been in the water my dick looked rather pitiful from the shrinkage.  I didn’t let that stop the show.  We took a couple of steps from the living room into her bedroom.  RT and LA started taking off each others clothes and feeling each other up.  Erik was standing in doorway watching.  That was a bit awkward and creepy because we never saw each other naked before.

I was fucking RT from behind while she was going down on LA.  At this point LA invited Erik into the room and she started blowing him.  It was rather uncomfortable seeing my best friends dick and his fuck faces.  Finally LA decided she wanted me to fuck her while she went down on RT.

When we switched position things came to a crashing halt.  Erik took a sideline view at this point.  When LA noticed this she pulled her face up from RT’s pussy, looked at Erik and said “put your dick in her mouth and suck on her tits!”  He had a look of horrified confusion on his face that I will never forget.  Erik looked at me as if asking what to do.  I threw my hands up and gave him a face of “hey whatever you want to do.”  He looked at RT, immediately got very flustered and muttered “uhhhhhh we have more of  high five type of relationship” then he ran out of the room.

After Erik left; LA, RT and I really stepped up our game.  It turned into a full on hardcore threesome that would make Bonnie Rotten blush.  Candidly, It was amazing.  LA was just as nasty as RT and I combined.  There was nothing she wasn’t down for.  The whole ordeal was full of sweat, spit and bodily fluids.   It was almost like Gilbert Gottfried’s version of the the aristocrats.

When we finally finished LA looked at us and said “I feel bad for Erik, should I go out and see if he wants to fuck me?”  I was pretty certain he would say no after knowing what went down.  She asked him anyway and he passed.

We were starting to get dressed and ready to leave.  Then LA had one last request.  She wanted to take pictures of our tattoos.  Apparently that is one of her other hobbies/fetishes.  Im not going to lie,  for some reason having her catalog our tattoos seemed like the strangest part of the night.  She took some photos and we went about our way back to my house.